


the end of a decade but the start of an age

by Highsmith (quimtessence)



Series: no absolutes [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alpha Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Alpha Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Alpha/Alpha, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Queer Character of Color, Canon Queer Relationship, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Guilt, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Knotting, Light Angst, M/M, Making Out, Malta, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Pre-Canon, Queer Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Resolved Sexual Tension, Scent Kink, Spooning, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wet & Messy, What Happened in Malta (The Old Guard)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:34:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25657486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quimtessence/pseuds/Highsmith
Summary: Staring at the ceiling unseeingly, he wonders whether disappearing like a thief in the night would cure him of thisache.(Or, Nicolò can't sleep because of reasons.)
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: no absolutes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860298
Comments: 101
Kudos: 704





	the end of a decade but the start of an age

**Author's Note:**

> I struggled for two weeks with this story, no joke, only to realise it needs to be a series in two parts, otherwise my brain might explode.
> 
> Title from "Long Live" by Taylor Swift, though we are most certainly heading into Hozier territory soon. *sigh*

His knot aches in the night from Yusuf's proximity, though they do not touch. They never touch.

They share bedding. Perhaps they should not, as their scents mingle even after the fabric has taken a good pounding with stone by the wadi. But they have few possessions, fewer still which relate to comfort, their bedding scarce as it is. It would be strange to go without, and he knows he would certainly feel like an idiot explaining to Yusuf why he has.

In the dark, except for moonlight streaming through the window across from them, staring at the ceiling unseeingly, he wonders whether disappearing like a thief in the night would cure him of this _ache_. But he knows he cannot; they are too closely bound to each other now. Therefore, Nicolò must swallow his thoughts down like bitter medicine, lest Yusuf should suspect.

He turns to bury his face into his pillow, never mind it carries Yusuf's smell in the pillowcase. Never mind Nicolò's mouth waters and his head clouds and his hips piston into the mattress when it fills his nose. He ignores the wetness surely bubbling up at the tip and his tender knot swelling desperately.

During the days and weeks and months after they finally ceased their personal warfare with each other, they used to walk from town to town searching for solitude, a place where they could not be accused of being gifted as they are or worse, until they eventually stumbled across the farmhouse, a ramshackle building abandoned for years with squeaky hinges on all the doors and a caved-in roof prone to generously letting rainwater in. Yusuf knew how to fix it, and did so before Nicolò's eyes, his hands clever, his former life having been one where his skill had been useful in daily life. Only Nicolò used to practice an existence of prayer for its own sake, utterly useless to their current lot.

Now, he cannot bear to kiss the cross at his neck. Its chain weighs too heavily. There's an irony there he doesn't wish to dwell on.

They are past the senseless killing. They help people as best they can. They share whatever life this is with each other. There is friendship between them now.

In a haze at that thought, Nicolò follows it up with another, _I'm an unmoored ship waiting for dark waters to wash me away without him_ , which is a silly thought, mostly because Yusuf has given him no indication that he— Not that Nicolò would ever— It's merely that—

He can't _think_ like this.

His neck arches up from his pillow to stare to his right at Yusuf's slumbering form. His breathing is even, therefore Nicolò has no reason to believe he isn't deeply asleep. As Nicolò himself should be by now. The nights spent on this little island, so close to both their homelands, have been temperate if not warm since their arrival. The rainy season has left them a few days ago. He finds he's in need of fresh air.

For lack of a better word, he sneaks outside, careful to make as little noise as possible. The moon is large and yellow. Too close. Nicolò can't bear to stare at it, so he walks to the by-now dry riverbed they've used until about a week ago for their laundry and what water they need around the farmhouse. Recently, Yusuf discovered an underground water source to compensate for the lack of rivers this island seems to have. Nicolò stares into the darkness of the valley, at the unmoving shadows, and wonders whether this is some form of punishment. Whether the gift itself is one, too.

The night air helps. Somewhat. His head clears enough he is confident he could return to the house and be able to finally sleep. For one, his knot has gone down, which was part of the reason for his sleeplessness to begin with, and not for the first time. He's unaccustomed to have his thoughts linger on it so often as if he were a mindless beast bent on breeding. Not that he could with Yusuf. Not that he'd allow Nicolò to—

He shakes his head free of that train of thought and makes his way back and carefully opens and closes the doors between him and his waiting bed, leaving his sandals by the threshold, preparing to cross the floor to his side of the room. Not carefully enough, it seems, even though Yusuf's dutifully oiled the hinges weeks ago.

"Are you well?" a warm, sleepy voice from the darkness asks him. Nicolò doesn't expect it, and yet he isn't surprised.

There's a scratch in his voice when he replies, "The air is cool outside." It's true; his head is already dizzy once more with Yusuf's scent. The window is open, but the room is small. It requires more ventilation, he thinks a little hysterically. "I could not sleep," he manages further when Yusuf gives no response to his first excuse.

This time, he does get Yusuf's words, tender and caring, a true friend. "Tell me." And Nicolò wants to laugh, but settles for walking into the room, avoiding the bed area.

Spreading his hands out on their lone table and staring down at it with a little frown, Nicolò exhales shakily. In the dimness surrounding him, he can't see the wood grain, but he knows it's there, just as he knows Yusuf is now standing behind him, waiting him out.

Eventually he says, "My thoughts weigh more than they should. But I can sleep now," he hurries to add. Yusuf should return to his own bed. Nicolò needs to reassure him he is fine, and then they can both return to their respective beds, although Nicolò is certain by now that the modicum of calm he found is gone. Won't sleep a wink until dawn.

A light palm turns him around. The moonlight is enough so they can see each other by. Nicolò's breath catches, head spinning.

"It hurts you should hide from me." His expression, what Nicolò can see of it, is closer to concern than not. He expected nothing less from his friend.

Although he wishes to protest, Nicolò knows vague white lies are different from an outright untruth. He might be lacking in many and varied ways, but he would never insult Yusuf like that.

He settles on, "There's nothing you can do, my friend." He swallows, inhaling too fast and too much by mistake, Yusuf's scent much more concentrated as close as they are. His toes curl against the floor. He's grateful he can cant his hips away and let the shadows swallow up his shame.

But Yusuf is neither stupid nor unobservant. He stiffens, brows drawing together, and Nicolò can hear him _inhale_.

Too late for denials. All roads would have probably led here. The panic comes anyway.

He expects reproaches. Nothing unkind, Yusuf is not that sort, too good to spit and rage at him, far too noble to walk out on him. Instead, he silently moves forward to cage him against the table, which is strange and unsettling and _enormous_.

In spite of the rhetoric he's heard his entire life, he's reasonably sure human beings cannot belong to each other. But Yusuf's kiss is a biting thing, a creature born between them to devour them both, to bound them together even further. Nicolò returns it as best he can, slips his tongue inside his mouth almost on a whim, moans and pants like an animal when Yusuf sucks and nibbles on it.

They part only long enough for Yusuf to mutter, "Like this?" And Nicolò is reasonably sure he nods permission far too enthusiastically, but it scarcely matters when they return straight away for more kisses, mouths fitting together even better this time around, Yusuf cocking his head to find them the best angle to open Nicolò's mouth up again as nimble fingers unlace his trousers.

The moans are pathetic and fill the room embarrassingly quickly. Yusuf merely sounds manly and virile and other words Nicolò's mushy brain cannot come up with right at this moment, while he himself keens pitifully as if he were dying. He might just die, he doesn't know, especially when Yusuf's palm slips inside the front of his trousers and his smallclothes to fondle at his knot.

"Let me," Yusuf mumbles between them, as if Nicolò requires convincing.

He ends up fucking Yusuf's hand in pathetic little thrusts until his knot swells fully, muffling his moans into his mouth the entire time, until Yusuf allows him to knot his palm, squeezing rhythmically for several long minutes before he comes in streaks up his wrist. Nicolò's hands never leave the edge of the table for fear he might swing around and use them to lean forward and present himself for Yusuf to take and knot as he pleases.

Right now, they're the only things helping him remain upright. Yusuf extracts his hand from his clothes and uses the other to gentle him. Nicolò can't tell if Yusuf is even hard. He always smells delicious, and, with their scents mingling in the small space, it's even harder to tell. Not that it matters, because Yusuf is moving away, grabbing a rag to clean his hand of Nicolò's mess, who flushes at the very thought of having dirtied him in such a way. Truly an animal.

"Come on," Yusuf says, "let's sleep," and helps Nicolò to, oddly enough, Yusuf's bed, lays him down and joins him in quick order.

As far as Nicolò knows, he might be dreaming. Might have been this entire time. But Yusuf's chest presses to his back, hips delicately keeping away, turned sideways behind him so that his left thigh touches the space behind Nicolò's, but his arms encircle him neatly, and it might not seem like a great comfort when Nicolò is close to jumping out of his own skin with the tension, but he finds sleep is finally calling for him, exhaustion settling in, and he drifts off finally.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh. Dear. Lord. OK, OK, it's done. Towards part deux... soon! Kudos and comments greatly appreciated. *runs away*
> 
> Tumblr: [rhubarbdreams](https://rhubarbdreams.tumblr.com/)


End file.
